


it is what it is

by Magali_Dragon



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Ballet, Coffee Shops, Dorks in Love, F/M, Misunderstandings, Romantic Comedy, Romantic Fluff, Secret Admirer, if it isn't broke don't fix it you know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:07:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25906333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magali_Dragon/pseuds/Magali_Dragon
Summary: Ballet dancer Daenerys Targaryen keeps getting little messages on her coffee cups from the Lone Wolf Cafe across the street and she really hopes her admirer is cute Jon Snow.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen
Comments: 74
Kudos: 582





	it is what it is

**Author's Note:**

> This is just soft fluff, nothing more, nothing less. I have a pattern, clearly, with my fics, and it is dorks, fluff, misunderstandings, and then happy endings. I don't think there is any reason to change this formula, do you? In that same vein, the next fic will be a smutty one-shot, one of two I am working on (and no I haven't forgotten the other two pending fics I have here, don't ask about them, they're in progress).
> 
> Moodboard by the lovely @youwerenevermine on Tumblr! I just love it so much! 
> 
> Title from the poem "What It Is" by Erich Fried.

* * *

The studio was cold and empty when she first arrived in the morning; she was always the first one there, she liked having the space to herself to warm up. They all had their own superstitions and practices, but Daenerys didn’t consider it a quirk to want the studio to herself first thing. She flicked on the lights, walking over to the corner where she dropped her gym bag, squatting and starting to remove her shoes, her leg warmers, and her favorite wrap.

In the far North, the studio at the Northern Academy of Dance was always freezing; the heater couldn’t keep up with the vast expanse of the rooms, the old windows allowing every bit of warmth to escape out. The walls of mirrors and the hardwood floors made it chillier, as did the old vaulted ceilings. They tried not to keep it too warm; after a few minutes of activity, the rooms would start to heat up if only from the dancers themselves. Soon enough they would all be sweaty, their muscles bunching and straining and limbs bending and extending, their bodies twisting into complicated and almost unnatural poses and positions, all in the name of art.

It was not easy, being a ballerina, but Daenerys could think of no other sport for her. She was an _athlete_ not a dancer, as many of them corrected interviewers and random fans. People thought it was just a bunch of girls in tutus running around a stage. It was far more than that, which was why she was at the studio at four in the morning, the evening snow still falling and muting the sounds outside, every step she made in the old studio seemingly louder in comparison.

She checked the thermostat, shivering. Wrapping her arms around herself, she padded in her thick sheepskin boots to her corner and shrugged off her heavy sweatshirt; her coat was already hanging outside. She plopped onto the floor, stretching her legs out to either side, her inner thigh muscles already whining in protest. They much would prefer to be in her warm bed, surrounded by her three fluffy cats, spending the day inside under a blanket with a mug of tea and a book instead of training.

Dany pulled out tape from her bag and tugged her left foot towards her, tugging off her boot and heavy knit socks. “Damn, it’s cold,” she complained, her toes cramping slightly. She pulled her foot to her and wrapped it up, the tape stiff and doing its job to lock her ankle in place. She pulled on her leg warmers, hand-knitted with dragons on them. Next came her shoes. She glanced at the toe box; they would only last another day.

She poked into her bag, glad she remembered to set up another pair. She would do another later.

With shoes on, she stretched, and then shoved her airpods into her ears, flicking her phone to the playlist she used for warmups. Heavy, driving rock, rap, pop, and the occasional classical song, each one helping her get ready for the day. She stretched and she bent, and she elongated her arms, legs, back, and neck. She stood at the barre for a bit, working there, and then began to jump about the room, twirling and leaping.

Each movement warmed her, but not until the door opened and the other dancers of the troupe entered did, she finally feel her stomach heat up, her heart doing a little quick race in her chest. “Good morning!” she called, seeing Missandei carrying the tray of teas and coffees from the place across the street. Her rate raced a bit faster in anticipation. She did her best to school her face, to keep from looking too eager, maybe even a little desperate. “Um…” She nibbled her lower lip, walking towards her best friend. “Did you get my…”

“Oh it’s here,” Missandei teased, handing her the steaming cup containing what Dany knew to be her extra-hot almond-milk Earl Grey tea latte with a pump of sugar-free vanilla and three tea bags instead of the normal two. Her friend’s fingers lingered a little longer than necessary on the rip of the cup, not letting go just yet. Dark eyes twinkled, knowing. “He was working today.”

Her cheeks were already pink from the warmup but darkened further at the insinuation. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she stumbled, closing her eyes briefly. She smiled tightly. “Thank you, Missy.” She walked away, while the others streamed in one after another, complaining of the cold, the recent snowfall, no parking spaces, and the upcoming show. Their instructor Lady Cersei would arrive shortly; the woman was a tyrant when she wasn’t drunk off her ass, they had no idea who they might get on a daily basis—drunk Cersei or hungover Cersei which could be worse—so she took the opportunity to go stand by herself by the window and sip her drink.

After a moment, she glanced around, spying no one watching, and then slowly lowered the coffee collar, the paper a bit swollen around the heat of the cup. She carefully tugged it and hissed when some of the drink splashed on her hand. She sucked her thumb where the drink it and smiled around it, at the scrawling words on the side of the cup.

_Break a leg…but don’t because would be bad._

She giggled, pushing the paper rim back up around the cup. “What’s so funny over here?” their star dancer, Margaery Tyrell, cooed, almost pirouetting over. She did a very dramatic forward lean, long arm stretched sideways in a move to take the cup. “Did you get a joke on yours? That damn Sam messed up my order again.”

“He just gets flustered with you there. Stop flirting with him.”

“I’m not flirting with him; I’m flirting with the other one.” She smirked; blue eyes bright, confident. “I know he wants me.” Margaery operated under the belief that all men lusted after her and it was the greatest thing to ever happen in their lives if she deigned to speak to them, let alone offer them a date. The problem was Margaery couldn’t help but flirt. It was the only language she spoke. She of course would think every one of the men at the coffee shop wanted her.

Dany sipped her drink, allowing it to fill her and heat her body up in the chill wafting in from the warped window next to them. She listened to Margaery discuss one of the other morning baristas at Lone Wolf Cafe, not really taking it in. Margaery had been doing a weird thing with fellow dancer Sansa Stark’s oldest brother Robb, who also worked at the coffee café. She supposed they were in the “off” area of their thing now if Margaery was trying to get the attentions of another man. “Hmm, yes sure of course,” she mumbled, at something Margaery said, not hearing it. She was thinking of her note on her coffee cup.

_Was it him or was it the other one? Which one?_

The other woman arched a dark brow. “Well nice to know you aren’t listening to me.”

Dany whipped her head around, her violet eyes widening. “Uh…what do you mean?”

“I asked if you could let me have a stretch of your elastic ribbons. You never let me have any.”

She flushed deeper, immediately frowning. “Well of course not! They’re expensive and I order them from a dance shop in Myr, you can get your own. Besides your feet are bigger than mine, you use too much.”

Margaery’s mouth dropped. “Ah!” she yelped. “Bitch!”

“Cunt.”

They shared a glare and then burst into laughter. Missandei came over, long and lithe in her purple leotard. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing, but you do think that barista guy is into me, right?” Margaery demanded.

Missy chuckled, shaking her head. “Sorry Marg, he doesn’t give you one look. I think he’s either gay or he’s got his sights on someone else.”

Margaery sniffed. She looked over to the entrance, waving at her brother who had just come in with their choreographer, who he was dating. “Loras! I need you to help me figure something out!” She hurried over to him, her toe shoes clomping loudly in her wake, demanding no doubt that her brother help her determine whether or not the hot barista was into her the next time they went for coffee.

That left the two best friends alone, so Dany could show Missandei the note on the cup. “I didn’t see who made it,” her best friend confessed, apologetic. “It could have been any of them it was a really busy morning. We got there a little late for pickup too.”

Dany nodded, understanding. She shrugged. “Still,” she said, grinning. “It’s kind of cool. I have a secret admirer.”

“Oh Dany, he’s not an admirer.” They turned at the loud bark of Cersei, who stumbled in with shades over her eyes and a silver thermos in hand they all knew contained not just coffee. They rolled their eyes, going to set their drinks down and start warmups as a group. Missandei finished her thought, as they lined up at the barre. She grinned wide. “Dany he’s head over heels in love with you.”

“What’s so funny over there Naath?” Cersei exclaimed from the front of the room. She hadn’t removed her sunglasses and wasn’t wearing her pointe shoes, so they expected they would be in for it since she was in no mood. She snapped her fingers at her daughter, one of the younger students at the Academy, who hit the button on the stereo system in the corner. “You all came here to learn how to dance and not one of you seems able to do it,” she sneered. “Let’s change that.”

They both exchanged eye rolls. The Northern Academy of Dance was one of the best in the country and it wasn’t because of Lady Cersei, but because of Lady Lyanna, the headmistress and the former prima ballerina for the Rhaenys Ballet in King’s Landing. They all aspired for her to teach their classes, which she wouldn’t until their final year there. Missy bent easily at her knees, lowering herself easily into a grand plié, speaking out of the side of her mouth. “Relax Dany, just ask him out next time.”

She turned pink, bending down into the same position, mumbling. “It isn’t that easy.” She barely knew him; had only met his once and it had been so awkward. He didn’t feel that way about her, she knew it.

“It’s totally him.”

“It isn’t,” she said to herself. It was probably the other one there. The one with the blue eyes or maybe Sam or maybe even the one with the annoyed expression on his face who looked like a weasel, Edd.

There was no way her crush was Jon Snow, the cutest barista at the Lone Wolf Café. The world didn’t work like that.

“Targaryen!” Cersei shrieked. She began to curse, chiding Daenerys’s form and asking if she had elephants dancing in her class.

Dany sucked in her gut and tugged her shoulders back so tight the blades were almost touching. “No elephants, Lady Cersei,” she mumbled. She focused on her form, her steps, and the class, doing what she could to put the handsome raven-haired Jon Snow out of her mind.

* * *

"So she didn't come in this morning, huh?"

Jon ignored his cousin—more like his brother—puffing on his cigarette out behind the back door of Lone Wolf Cafe. He put up with Robb's constant ribbing about his _crush_ which was not really a crush. He didn't think he was a crush. He just thought the ballerina he'd met at some party via his cousin Sansa was really pretty. She was funny, she was nice, she was...he sighed hard.

_Fuck, I have a crush._

It wasn't like she _knew_ he had a crush on her. To be honest, she probably didn’t even remember him. Not many did; he blended in the background, like a shadow. It was one of the parties that Robb always seemed to know were going on, where Jon didn’t know anyone and just showed up to say he’d been and then leave. Sansa had invited her dancer friends from the Academy. He'd never been interested in them, not the way Robb always had been, lusting after them whenever Sansa brought them home for dinner or to practice.

Robb would flirt with a telephone pole if he thought he could bone it. He'd been positively insatiable, no dancer was enough, all of them pretty and thin and flexible and many from other realms where Northerners were still an odd entity. Still _exotic_ , for both Robb and the dancer both. Jon always thought they were a little full of themselves; he never really paid them attention.

Except for _her_. Robb had gotten distracted by a flirt as big as him and immediately run off with her, both of them trying to see who could “one up” the other with innuendo. He'd bumped straight into the small little thing with silver hair over at the keg, almost knocking beer all over her. It had been awkward, embarrassing, and she'd laughed it off. Before he could even introduce himself, stupid Robb had run over and grabbed him, hauling him over to meet a friend of the flirt—Margaery—leaving the small little silver-haired ballerina waving at him in stunned amusement.

He'd run into her later that night and learned her name was _Daenerys._ Beautiful name, he'd thought stupidly, entranced by her violet eyes. It was Valyrian, which made sense as she was the epitome of the ancient region— he studied history and anthropology at university and the fact that there were still people who had the DNA of an ancient people long dead was absolutely fascinating to him. It was to her as well, when they'd begun chatting animatedly about Valyrians, First Men, and the impact of their religions and beliefs on the culture of Westeros.

Until his _fucking cousin_ grabbed him again, claiming they had to leave because Sansa's ex-boyfriend had showed up and was putting moves on her. He'd apologized profusely for running off a second time, but he needed to deal with Ramsay Bolton and they'd both gone off and chased down the shithead who thought it was okay to slap their cousin/sister and get away with it. When he'd gone back to the party, she was gone.

And then he'd seen her a couple weeks later with a bunch of other giggling ballerinas at the coffee shop, when he'd come on shift. He had been too embarrassed after dumping her the way he had to talk to her. Only ever saw her from a distance; she didn’t seem to notice him anyway. _Typical._ So yeah, maybe Robb was right. Maybe he did have a _crush._ It just sounded so high school.

He stubbed out his cigarette on the stoop he'd been sitting on and picked up his coffee cup, draining the dregs of whatever was left in it from this morning. "No, she wasn't there this morning," he confirmed, annoyed Robb had been right.

"Please tell me you aren't stalking her."

"What?" he sputtered, almost spitting out the cold coffee after another sip. He coughed, wiping his palm over his beard. "Why would you think that?"

Robb smirked, crossing his arms over his chest, his cigarette held loosely in his fingertips. "Come on Jon, you know she doesn’t come in, in the mornings."

"Just on weekends sometimes," he mumbled, feeling more like a stalker than he'd had a moment before. Robb was right again on that count. Very irritating. He glared up, his gray eyes flashing, warning. "You stay away from her."

"Hey, that one friend of hers Margaery keeps me plenty busy."

"Are you dating her or what?"

"Just casual, we’re not interested in anything serious." He grinned again around his cigarette, puffing on it and then blowing out a long stream of smoke, checking his watch. He leaned down and slapped his shoulder. "Better get back in, my boss will have my ass."

Jon rolled his eyes; as Robb's boss he really didn't care, so long as Robb’s romantic entanglements didn’t get in the way of things. He was only managing the coffee shop as a job during university. It was one of his uncle's various businesses, Brandon couldn't be bothered to deal with anything other than _his_ various affairs. Ned had made Robb work there to teach him a thing or two about running a business as a lay person before he ended up taking over as was his expectations at Stark Industries, when he graduated.

He got up and dusted off his black jeans, returning inside and grabbing one of the black aprons they had to wear over their black shirts. It was classic hipster; perhaps why Brandon opened the place, as he was sure he could make a profit from it. It did a good business and the ballerinas from the school across the street were always visiting. Sansa helped boost the clientele on that front. He nibbled his lower lip and suddenly remembered what she’d always complained about; the studios were always freezing.

Daenerys was from the South; the Crownlands, he remembered her saying. _She might want something warm then._ He went over to the expensive machines and began to fiddle with them, steaming milk and then pulled out a tin of the fancy Earl Grey tea he'd bought a bunch of, specifically for her. He made the pouch, fussed with it the way she liked, and then scribbled a note on the side of the cup.

_In case you get cold._

He slipped on the coffee collar and stuck in a little drink stopper. "Be right back," he said to Robb, slipping around the side of the counter and out the front door. He jogged over to the studio and went inside, to the front administrative desk where a young girl was fiddling with her makeup mirror. He smiled quickly at her. "Hello, I was wondering if I could leave this for someone? Daenerys?"

The girl barely looked at him. She wore a nametag that said 'Myrcella.' "Yeah, sure, whatever, set it there." She picked up her cell phone and glared at it, before cursing loudly. "Oh my gods Mom! You’re such a bitch! Ugh!" She began to furiously text back to whoever her mother was, not looking at him again.

Jon rolled his eyes; _teenagers_. His cousin Arya was about this girl's age. He had seen many the same eyeroll and cursing at phones to mothers. He set the cup down and went back across the street, ignoring Robb's knowing look. He glanced sideways after a moment, shrugging. "What?" he mumbled.

"You just took her a drink and didn't even let her know."

"She gets cold," he mumbled.

Robb laughed. "You have it bad."

"Shut up."

"Jon has a crush on a ballerina," his cousin sang, flicking drink stirrers at him

Jon almost threw a bag of coffee beans at him, his pale cheeks bright red. He began to nervously mess with his hair, taking the dark curls out of their half-up/half-down bun and adjusting it. "No I don't. I'm just trying to be nice. She's not from around here, you know how the Northerners are."

"Hmm, sure."

Thankfully a large group of high school students came in then, distracting Robb with their overly complicated orders. It gave him the time he needed to steal away to the office upstairs and pull next week’s schedule to him. He fiddled with a pen and glanced out the window, smiling briefly at the old building, wondering rather dumbly if she’d gotten his note.

_And if she even knows it’s me._

He felt a little flush, embarrassed, and told himself it didn’t matter if she knew it was him or not. It was a nice thing he was doing. He heard a ‘harrumph’ in the corner and glared at his white wolf-dog Ghost, who shook his head, ears ruffling. “What?” he demanded.

Ghost licked his lips and tossed back his head, whining in a way as if to say _Lost cause, mate._

“Yeah, well…” Jon shrugged, propping his cheek on his palm. He sighed hard. “Maybe it is, but we’ll see how long it lasts.”

* * *

_Alright, this is it, here we go._ Steeling herself for finally confirming once and for all that her secret admirer actually was the one she wanted it to be, Dany held her shoulders back and her chin high, like she was about to do a solo performance before hundreds of people. She’d done that, of course, and this one would argue, was considerably less pressure, but it oddly felt like there was more riding on this.

Like the fact she could be making a complete and utter fool of herself in front of this man. Or she could confirm that he was the funny, smart, and really cute guy she’d met at that dumb party ages ago. _Please be him, please be him_ , she recited to herself, ignoring Missy jabbering away behind her in Valyrian to her boyfriend Grey, who was away in Essos at school.

She noted the coffee shop was once again busy; they did a good business with the various schools that seemed to be positioned strategically around the area. There were two older men behind the counter this time, looking very important, although one—incredibly handsome with light gray eyes and a look about him that seemed to exude confidence, seemed to be arguing with the other man, who while younger, also held an air that the entire world was on his shoulders.

There was Sam, putting together a major order and then two others –a woman she knew was named Val who was incredibly beautiful and who rarely got any orders correct and then the auburn haired one who had been at the party. _Robb_ , she remembered. The one Margaery flirted with all the fucking time. Dany approached slowly, scanning the back of the coffee shop, trying to see if there was anyone else kneeling or maybe roasting beans or something. “Hello,” she said politely, hesitating to ask about him. She thought he’d be working… _damnit._

The one at the register, with the nametag confirming he was in fact Robb, grinned at her, a little cocky. His blue eyes twinkled; he seemed perpetually happy. “One of the dancers,” he teased, leaning a hip to the counter. “You know I’ve got two left feet myself.”

It wasn’t like she hadn’t heard that before. Dany remained polite. “Anyone can dance if they give it a try.” Her heart leaped in her throat when she saw _him_ enter the back door, a messenger bag slung over his shoulder and his phone up to his ear. She chewed her lower lip, about to ask after him, when Robb distracted her.

“Perhaps you can show me.”

She blinked, focusing on him. “Excuse me?”

“Dancing, perhaps you can show me how I don’t have two left feet,” Robb said, flirting openly. He nodded towards the door. “I think one of your other dancers Margaery said I was a lost cause.”

“Maybe you are.” He was definitely a lost cause to her. Her stomach flipped, wondering where the other one went. _Jon._ “Um, can I order please?”

“Oh sure, I’m keeping you. Bet you guys have more practicing huh? You know even in school we didn’t even practice football that long.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Football and ballet are not really comparable, although learning ballet does assist football players with their flexibility, strength, and agility.”

“What? No it doesn’t!”

As she had also heard that protest from men proclaiming that ballet was a sissy sport and not at all helpful for things like football or hockey or any other activity, they considered more masculine, Dany didn’t push it. She ordered her drink, stepping aside after paying, her confidence deflating now that he wasn’t there. “Don’t give up,” Missy said, sensing her angst. She pocketed her phone, reaching around to hug her to her side, rubbing her arm briskly. “Think of it like this, if you don’t get a note on your cup, it could still be him, right?”

“Right.”

It didn’t matter; part of her marching over here had been because she had finally grown weary of Margaery’s constant ribbing over her secret admirer—Margaery was jealous—also she had received the equivalent to an ‘Outstanding’ from Cersei earlier that day in the form of a very subtle sneer as opposed to open hostility. She had also, after gods knew how many hours of practice and a frightful audition, received the coveted solo performance in the production of _The Long Night_ as the Night’s Queen for their performance at the Rhaenys Ballet’s showcase at the end of the year, which would have the bloody Prime Minister in attendance and the Director of the Rhaenys Ballet.

It meant that when she graduated next year, she might have a chance at getting into the best ballet in the world, so yes, she walked out of their at lunchtime with an extra jump in her nimble steps, her heart light, and her bravado surging. She would finally find out whether her admirer was Jon and she would ask him out and then maybe they could finish their conversation from the party.

She felt every bit of confidence disappearing, her awkward shell wrapping back around herself. Daenerys was an exceptional dancer, athlete, and normally very sure of herself. She had no idea why this Jon character sent her stomach into a knot and replaced her heart fluttering with a swarm of butterflies. “I guess it doesn’t matter,” she mumbled, feeling her phone vibrate in her pocket. She reached for it and saw a text from her brother Rhaegar, congratulating her on her performance. He’d been the conductor of the King’s Landing Symphony Orchestra and knew Cersei well from the various collaborations they’d done, so for her to already have notified Rhaegar was a huge thing.

She nibbled her lower lip, giggling to herself, and thanked him, letting him know she’d call him later. “I think that’s ours,” she said, nodding to the two cups that Robb set down for her, with another arrogant grin. She smirked, walking forward and picked up one of the cups, turning and sliding the collar down.

Her stomach plummeted. Then jumped straight back up again. “Nothing?” Missy asked.

“Nothing.”

Missy moved to sip her drink and cringed, sputtering and spitting. “Augh! That’s awful! This is yours. Ick.”

“Wait…” Dany grabbed Missy’s drink—hers apparently—lowering the cardboard collar around the cup. She stared at the black writing emerging, bit by bit, and her stomach returned to her feet. The implications hit her like a bag of bricks over the head and even Missy cringed, immediately apologetic, whispering something about how it was fine, Robb was a cute guy, even if he was a bit of a flirt. Maybe it was for the best or something…Dany couldn’t hear her.

The black script writing, messy and tangled, like the writer could not be bothered to properly form letters because their mind was somewhere else entirely—like in the history of Westeros maybe?—spelled out one word. _Congratulations_. “He knew, because we were talking about it,” Dany said, shoulders falling into a lazy slouch. She shook her head. It was fine. She glanced over her shoulder, seeing Jon now speaking with the two older men, and Robb texting. He didn’t even look at her. She glanced at Jon, trying to catch his attention, but he was singularly focused on the men who appeared to be in charge.

Missy kissed her cheek, squeezing her wrist. “Come on, Cersei will kill us if we’re late for next class. Besides, it’s cute, maybe he is a secret romantic? He just seems a bit like a douche on the outside. Maybe?”

Bless Missandei for being her best friend and doing everything to cheer her up, even if she didn’t believe it herself. “Yeah,” Dany said. She pulled a fake smile onto her face, the kind she did during performances, and sipped her drink, walking back across the street to the studio.

The drink did not warm her up, even though it should have and always had before.

* * *

Robb said he was super creepy for just putting the word _Congratulations_ on the cup without anything else, like he was a stalker or something. Jon regretted it as soon as she picked it up and walked away, but it was too late. He’d heard from Sansa before he showed up to work that she’d gotten the solo performance. Sansa was jealous, as she wanted to be just as good a dancer as Daenerys, but she also was drawn more to admire Margaery. She just wasn’t old enough or in their level yet.

He knew Robb was flirting with her, which annoyed him, and he was ready to say something, but thought that maybe he could at least get something to her anyway. So he’d scribbled it out on the cup in the back and replaced it when Robb wasn’t looking, while he made the drinks. He’d then busied himself with Brandon and Ned, who had come to check on the books and also make sure Robb was behaving himself. Robb couldn’t keep his dick in his pants, but he was good with people and would be a good businessman for Stark Industries.

It was just that he was sick to death of him putting moves on Dany when Robb _knew_ about the crush and even teased him about it. He glanced darkly at his cousin, who was arguing with Theon over who could do more pushups. “What does it fucking matter?” he snapped, after hearing Theon say he could do the most. He glared at Robb’s friend and their sort-of foster brother. “And don’t you have stuff to do? Like a job?”

Theon rolled his eyes. “Someone is on their period.”

“Ooh burn,” Jon snapped. Theon had the most juvenile sense of humor and sucked with comebacks or insults, even if he thought he was superior. He rolled his eyes and grabbed the binder where they kept all the various roasting times and notes. He stalked upstairs, leaving the rest of them downstairs, not wanting to deal with any of them. He lost himself in work and in his studies, even if he found himself brooding on the matter more than he wanted. 

It was about mid-afternoon when Jon decided to just throw caution to the wind. He would go over there, he'd ask to see Daenerys and that would be it. He'd give her the coffee and at the same time, he would nut up and ask her out, like he should have fucking done the first time he saw her after that disastrous party. He was a grown-ass man, so why was he so afraid of asking a very attractive, very adorable, and very available woman out on a date? Robb did it all the time. Theon had no shame. Even freaking Sam, the one who turned red when he had to speak to any woman, he had a girlfriend.

He finished the tasks in the back of the shop, roasting the beans for the next day, packaging them up, and working on the newest batch, which they'd just received from Sothyros. He was playing around with mixing some of the blends, just a bit of a hobby for the coffee snob he'd turned into with this stupid job, and then he would go upstairs and pretend to work on the accounts, but what he really would be doing was finishing up his paper for his Post-Northern Invasion Anthropology of Beyond the Wall Eastern Native Persons class. Also the most boring class on his schedule, because he wasn't interested in learning about the First Men who had established a single colony on Skagos. it didn't help his dissertation at all, and he had been to Skagos so many times as a kid he didn't need an entire class on it, but oh well, it was required.

The beans rattled in the metal chute, loudly falling into the bag situated underneath. Once they finished, he marked the date and time, the expiration, and carried it to the shelf for tomorrow's use. "What are you doing?" he asked, sighing at the sight of Robb apparently hiding from someone behind the edge of the wall, peering into the main room.

"I think my future wife is here."

"Since when are you intimidated by a woman?" he frowned. "Especially one you've already spoken with and practically made out with?"

"Since I met my match."

Jon saw that yes, the future Mrs. Robb Stark, was ordering a bunch of drinks. She wore her deep chestnut hair in a perfect ballerina bun atop of her head, a thick puffer coat that fell to the floor pulled on over pale pink tights, a loose skirt that hit her mid-thigh, and leotard. Her feet were encased in thick shearling lined boots and he could see wool leg warmers over her calves and knees. "Must be break time," he supposed.

"Do you have their schedules memorized? Stalker."

"Says the one lurking behind the wall." He chewed his lower lip. After a moment wrestling between hand-carrying the drink over to the studio or just slipping another note on the cup, he decided that he would in fact be a fucking man about it and walk the drink over. He nudged Robb with his elbow. "Get out there and talk to her."

"I think I'm in love with her."

"So talk to her."

Robb snorted. It was his turn to fire back. "And tell me Snow, why should I take advice from you, who has been sending little love notes instead of actually speaking to the woman you want to make your wife?"

That was a very good question, but Jon was not the one lurking behind the wall from the woman he happened to like. He was hiding behind coffee cups and love notes, as Robb said. he didn't answer, marching away and to the counter, smiling politely at Margaery. "Busy afternoon?" he asked her, as she held the tray in one hand and picked up a bag with pastries in the other.

"The busiest," she sang, batting her eyelashes at him; her eyes were very blue, but they didn't do anything for him. She caught sight of Robb behind him, her face lighting up. "Well hello there Robb! Long time, no see."

Jon left them to flirt it up; Robb seemed to have gained his confidence back. He grabbed a cup and set about making Dany's drink. It was rather disgusting, he thought, but it was unique enough that he'd remembered it immediately. He dunked the tea bags into the steamed milk, capped it, and thought for a moment, before smiling to himself and writing on the side of the cup. _To warm you up, it's supposed to snow tonight-- pick you up after class?_

"Oh gods, you're seriously going to do it."

He almost dropped the drink, cursing under his breath at Robb's sudden appearance behind him. He set down the marker and put the cup into the little cardboard collar. He said nothing, choosing instead to march around the counter. Margaery had already left. He felt his heartbeat quicken, his hands felt simultaneously hot from the drink in them and also clammy from nerves. The wind bit at his exposed skin, even his Northern blood not thick enough to prevent him from shivering at the gusts blowing by. It would definitely snow; he could smell it in the air.

The wind tangled in his curls and his beard did nothing to warm his cheeks, which flushed pink. There were a group of giggling young girls, carrying matching gym bags with the Academy's logo embroidered on the side approaching the door. They took one look at him and kept giggling away behind their hands, not even thanking him when he held open the door for them. He rolled his eyes; probably Sansa's friends, judging by their age.

He entered the school, spotting the same teenager at the front desk as she usually was about this time of day. There were administration offices right behind it, a comfortable waiting area for prospective students and those interested in attending, and then another open area where some students were milling about, stretching and swaying in spot, a sign posted with arrows noting that classrooms were in one direction down the hall. If Jon remembered right, the older students were required to teach little kids. Sansa was impatient for the day when she could finally teach. Jon suspected it was because she just liked being in control and having power, even if it was a limited as lording over a bunch of kindergarteners.

Alright Snow, he told himself, drawing his shoulders back and tapping into his limited supply of nerves. He walked to the counter and would not be swayed by the teenager on the other side. "Excuse me," he said, clearing the sudden croak in his throat. he swallowed hard. Of all times. "I'm looking for Daenerys?"

"Dany?" Myrcella echoed. She was wearing dancing clothes instead of the goth-like attire she'd had on the last time he'd dropped by. She shrugged. "I don't know, I guess she's here maybe." She looked over towards the offices, leaning sideways and rapped her knuckles on the glass. "Hey Marg!"

To Jon's horror, Margaery emerged from the office, slinking over like a pink-attired panther. "Jon," she cooed, wiggling her fingers. "We meet again. Did i leave something?" Her gaze dropped to the drink and she smiled again. "Is that for me? You shouldn’t have. Are you the one who has been dropping by with these little surprises? I love them!"

His heart fell from his chest to the soles of his feet, no longer beating. Eyes widened briefly, he had no time to school his face, disappointment palpable. The implications of what she'd just said slammed into him, almost bringing him to his knees. _Maybe she wasn’t even getting the notes._ If he was dropping them off here and there...maybe she wasn't even getting them! That was why she hadn't said anything to him or figured it out or anything.

At the very least, he'd thought of course the teenager would barely have said anything about him bringing by the drinks, but now...Margaery might have been taking them all. what if she thought it was Robb instead of him? _Oh fuck I fucked this up._ He swallowed hard again, his throat dry, and his hand shaking. "Um, it's..." he trailed off, no longer confident, and wanting to just get out of there and escape. He nodded and just shoved the drink forward on the counter. "See you around."

"Hey Jon!" Margaery called, but he didn't care. He left as quickly as he arrived, ran across the street, and up the stairs to the office, stripping off the bloody stupid black apron and ruffling his hands through his curls, tugging and pulling, feeling stupid, foolish, and a dumbass.

He kicked at a stray box of cups, cursing angrily. Ghost popped up from where he'd been sleeping, disturbed and annoyed. "Sorry boy," he mumbled, going over to reassure the dog he wasn't angry with him. he knelt down, scratching the wolf's perked up ears. He closed his eyes. He just couldn't win. Always Jon Snow, Robb Starks' bastard cousin, the one who trailed after him, who wasn't as good with girls or in school or anything else. Except he was better in school. he was the better football player, hockey player, and he was the one with more responsibility.

It was the girl thing that was definitely true. He thought he was being so smooth...no, he was just a lovesick idiot who fancied himself a romantic. Too shy and embarrassed to just ask her out and take the rejection the way Robb or Theon did all the time. He dropped his head to Ghost's, whispering. "I'm so stupid Ghost. I don't know anything."

The wolf licked his cheek, reassuring. He sighed; it was nice to have the canine's approval, but it wasn’t much. He shook his head again and dropped his face to the wolf's soft, warm fur. If Dany wasn't getting them, that was one thing. If she was getting them and laughing about them with Margaery? Or thinking it was Robb or Then or someone else? _What the bloody fuck am I doing?_

Ghost whined, rolling to his side and exposing his belly for rubs. Jon obliged, idly gazing to the windows that lined up with theirs, open wide and the dancers barely visible, but their movements catching his attention. Somewhere in there was Dany, he thought. He could just go over and demand to speak with her. He could wait for her to come back over and confront her.

Or he could just forget this entire stupid thing and move on. It would definitely hurt less.

"What should I do, huh?" he asked again his furry companion. Ghost yipped, rolling further over and wagging his feet into the air. He laughed. "That doesn't help me, but thanks for offering." He patted the wolf's belly one last time and got up, going over to his laptop. He could drown his sorrows in writing about ancient civilizations instead of brooding about whether or not Dany had even received his little notes, whether or not he was a joke and whether or not he should even bother keeping up this stupid little game.

He heard the door open behind him, not bothering to see who it was. Right now he couldn’t handle anyone, so if he just stayed on the floor with Ghost, maybe they would go away? His hopes were dashed, when he heard Robb speak, albeit surprised to hear the quiet sincerity in it as opposed to his usual cocky arrogance. “Um, you alright?”

“Never better,” he drolly droned.

Robb came around and sank down to the floor next to him, draping his lanky arms over his knees. He nervously fiddled with a stray thread on the hem of his apron. “So, I don’t know what happened over there, but you stormed in and straight up here, so I figured it didn’t go well…then Margaery came over, told me she thinks she fucked something up.” He paused, hesitated, and rushed out his next words in one breath. “I like Margaery, you know, that right? I know she flirts with anything that moves too and that’s fine, but I want you to know that I would never make a move on Daenerys. I know you like her and you’re practically my brother. No way man, I’m not going to do that, even if she thinks it’s me writing those things, got it?”

Curious, he lifted his head up from Ghost, falling back onto his haunches. He met Robb’s earnest eyes and nodded slowly. “I understand.” He never really thought that Robb would do that, but…it wasn’t that so much as it was this entire stupid thing. He flicked at an errant coffee bean on the floor by Ghost’s paw. “I’m done with this. It was a stupid thing anyway.”

“Not stupid. Just you.”

“And I’m stupid.”

Robb rolled his eyes, waving his hand carelessly into the air. “Fuck that Jon, you’re the smartest person I know.”

“That’s not saying much, Theon is your best friend.”

“Yeah he’s a dipshit,” his cousin agreed with a throaty chuckle. He smiled sympathetically. “Don’t give up dude. She’s worth it, I think. Margaery is so jealous of her even though they’re like best friends. Women are weird.”

 _They certainly were_ , Jon thought, eventually pushing up his feet. He trudged to the window, peering out at the light flecks of snow beginning to fall, and could see into the studio. He smiled briefly; the lone red skirt out of all the others, spinning and leaping across the large practice room. He took a deep breath, held it, and decided he’d keep going.

Daenerys was worth it.

* * *

Margaery was keeping something from her. Missandei told her not to worry about it, it was probably just Margaery being Margaery. Ever since Cersei had announced that she would play the Night Queen in the production, Margaery had been teetering between jealous and friendly. Dany knew that they did not have quite the same level of friendship as she had with Missandei, so she was always on the lookout for anything that could take the role from her or sabotage her. She didn’t quite trust Margaery not to do something, even if it was subconscious. It was just her nature.

She had been irked with her friend as well, for bringing up the drink and saying her admirer dropped it off. Margaery knew who he was, but wasn’t confirming one way or the other, which pissed Dany off. It wasn’t _funny_. “She’s just doing it to get a rise out of you, don’t let her,” Missandei assured her, during their morning warmups when Margaery had teased her again about knowing who dropped off the cups every morning with the notes and every afternoon.

It was easier said than done, that was for sure.

“Alright everyone, let’s all line up at the barre!” Dany called, keeping her voice commanding, but also gentle. She loved her class of four and five-year olds, all of them stumbling over their feet, still a bit unsure over how to use them to walk let alone to dance. She smiled at each one of them, walking along the row, adjusting the hold that some of the girls and boys had on the railing by the wall.

She finished her inspection and went to the front of the class. One of the little boys, Sansa’s brother Rickon, who only wanted to do ballet so he could be faster and better than his two older sisters. Dany had only met Arya once, she was certainly not into ballet, but she did take martial arts in the studio in the basement and what she’d seen of the young woman, little Rickon had a long way to go to try to outdo Arya.

A little girl by the name of Teela raised her hand. “Miss Dany?” she asked.

“Yes?”

Teela and a few of her little friends giggled behind their hands. Rickon gave them a dirty look, no doubt because they were distracting. He was a scamp but a most conscientious student. She hid her smile as best as she could, her lips pressed into a pale pink line, eyebrows arching amusedly at the young girls, awaiting their question. One of them eventually puffed up her little chest and crossed her arms over it, challenging: “Can you do a...a…fou…foure…foutt…” her squeaky little voice trembled with the word, obviously trying to sound smart, but failing. Her cheeks went pink. “Um…”

Assisting the little girls, Dany smiled politely, dipping her head in their direction. “A fouetté?” she confirmed. They all nodded eagerly. No doubt they’d heard of the word from one of the advanced dancers, some of them had sisters or cousins or other relatives and friends in the advanced classes. She nodded, licking her lips and slid a glance to Missy in the corner, who was grinning. “Ah…I can do one.”

They exchanged looks but said nothing more. Rickon, on the other hand, had to know. He burst into a squeal. “Show us!”

It was considered one of the hardest ballet moves, requiring balance, precision, timing, and strength. It was also a testament to the physics of the human body, what it was capable of. Dany really enjoyed doing the move, more than most dancers. She didn’t have her pointe shoes on, which were necessary. “Well,” she began.

“Please!”

“Oh please show us!”

“Yes, we want to see!”

“I want to try!”

They scrambled to her, jumping in their matching pink leotards, tights, and tutus, the little boys in their white shirts and black leggings. She laughed, guiding them towards the barre. “Alright, alright, but I have to put on my other shoes. Why don’t you practice your arm movements and Miss Missandei will help you with them? I’ll put on my shoes.”

A few minutes later, with Missandei teasing her about showing off, Dany had assembled a little audience, including the parents and older siblings who had arrived early to pick up the students. She fumbled in her bag, bypassing her traditional pink shoes for her _special_ pointe shoes. The ones she rarely used, as they were far more expensive, but she always kept a pair ready. Her bright red satin and silk ones, with red ribbons.

She flexed her feet, cracking her toes and taping her last two together, ensuring her big toe was also taped up well, and slipped them on. They fit her feet like a glove would a hand, the block pressing teasingly against her toes. She laced up the ribbons and flexed her ankles and feet again, watching the corded muscles in her calves pull taut and release. The red shoes went well with her black skirt and leotard, her tights white. She got to her feet and did a few relevees and plies, just to warm up, and went to the center of the room, her little audience waiting.

Out of the corner of her eye, the door opened, and she barely acknowledged the man who entered, until her heart went still, her throat clenching. _Oh, it’s him._ It was Jon. He wasn’t wearing his apron or carrying a tray of coffees. He smiled politely in her direction, but his cool gray eyes searched the crowd and he waved. Rickon frantically waved back. She swallowed hard, trying not to let his appearance distract her. She could perform before thousands, but this… _get a fucking grip Daenerys._

Missandei punched the stereo and the music played. It was a selection from the Westeros Symphony Orchestra, a harp solo. It was likely Rhaegar’s harp solo, she thought, and one she had performed many times. It was from the symphony _Dream of Spring._ The solo was the role of the princess who ushered in the new life after a cold and dreary winter. She began to dance, toes fluttering across the floor, her body lifting and dipping, beginning the routine.

After several minutes of dancing, the solo culminated in a long series of fouettés, and her muscles strained, sweat damp on her hairline and nape of her neck, dripping down her spine. It looked so easy but was so difficult. _One, two, three_ , she counted in her head, spinning with every pirouette, her right leg throwing out to the side, garnering the physical force necessary to continue spinning without stopping, on her toes, over and over again.

The music ended with a bang, her arms thrown out, body falling to the floor in a split, back bowed, and head bent backwards, the spring princess offering her hand—which would have contained prop flowers—to the heavens. She strained for breath, blinking away little black dots, the claps and cheers from her audience muted in her ears. She smiled wide, feeling good, but very tired. She unfolded her legs from the floor and stood, curtseying deep, and swept her arm across her body, head bowing deferentially. “Thank you very much,” she said sincerely.

“You did it Miss Dany!” the children chirped, some of them rushing over to her to see how she did it, wondering if they could.

She assured them; with years of practice they could do the same thing. “But until then, make sure you practice your arm movements and your plies,” she said, grinning at them all. She waved them goodbye, hugging a few who came up to say goodbye, and watched them all leave.

Rickon ran over to her last. “You are so awesome Miss Dany!” he exclaimed.

“Thank you Rickon, you’re pretty awesome too.”

“Jon do you think she’s awesome? She is.”

Jon’s cheeks were pink underneath his scruffy dark beard. Her cheeks were flushed from the routine, but she swore they went darker red, with the meeting of his gray eyes on her purple ones. _They’re so deep_ , she thought, wondering where the bottoms of those pools were. They seemed to go on forever. “I think she’s very talented,” he said, quiet. He smiled, shy and broke his gaze from hers. “It was nice seeing you.”

“And you too,” she whispered. She forgot anything else, watching him leave. The door closed behind him, and she instantly smacked her palm to her forehead. “Idiot!”

“Who? Him?” Missandei looked over from the stereo, removing her phone from the speaker dock. “He’s not an idiot. Maybe he is for not asking you out just yet.”

“No, me! I could have said anything to him, and I didn’t. Augh!” She hated it, hated how she got all tongue-tied around him. All she had to do was just _ask_ him, to see if he was the one who was writing the notes on her cups, was he her _secret admirer_? It sounded so juvenile, but that’s what she’d become, hadn’t she? Some lovesick teen moping over the fact the guy she liked might not like her back and how she for some reason just couldn’t go talk to him.

Missy shoved her arms into her puffy coat. “Come on, let’s go across the street and get a tea. I’m freezing and you need something boiling about now to calm you down.”

She nodded in agreement. Yes, a steaming boiling cup of tea would really help her about now. The admirer seemed to understand that. They both bundled up, putting on warmup pants over their tights, since she didn’t want to change outright just yet. There was still work they had to do at the studios, cleanup and such. Missy complained about how the newest batch of shoes weren’t fitting her correctly—Grey her boyfriend had been sending her some from a specific shop in Meereen and now that it had closed, she needed to return back to the school’s stock and she hated them.

Dany listened to her complain, her hands clenched in her pockets, waiting at the edge of the counter after they ordered. She watched them on the other side of the counter make her drink. Jon wasn’t there; probably was with Rickon still. She wasn’t expecting anything, in fact, she was _hoping_ there wasn’t a note. She looked over at Robb, who gave her a wink and passed her the cup. “Have a good evening,” he said with a cheeky smile.

She wrinkled her nose and checked her cup. On the side of it, in the same scribble, were the words: _Boiling hot, like you like it._

Except where they once would have had her smile, had her giggle, and wonder about the one who knew exactly the temperature she liked her tea, used the fancy blend of Earl Grey instead of the usual swill, and for some reason just _got_ her, she was annoyed. She slammed the cup down, ignoring the splash of hot tea on her hand. “You know,” she snapped, drawing Robb’s attention back to her from the other drink he was starting on. Her voice was loud, angry. Because she was. The fire burned in her heart, finally ready to explode. She was tired of the game, of this little charade. “I thought it was cute, these little notes and always leaving me coffees when I needed them and getting me the right kind of tea and the right temperature and everything, but you’re just a player, aren’t you Robb? You flirt with everyone, you’re practically dating my friend Margaery, and you’re stringing me on, well I’m done! I’m not doing this anymore! You can stop trying to get into my heart with sweet notes and fancy tea blends!”

She clenched the cup in her hand, spinning away from the counter, ignoring the stares of the other customers and the horrified look on Robb’s face, and marched from the coffee shop. _I did it, I finally told him what for_ , she thought dizzily, needing a sip of caffeine if she was expected to cross the street without falling down, her limbs a bit numb and at the same time shaking from the blowout at the barista.

The tea hit her tongue, lukewarm instead of boiling, and to her disgust it was not the preferred blend she liked, but the rather cheap kind they used. She took the top off and glared irritatingly into the cup; only two tea bags, not three like she always got. She sniffed. _He’s losing his touch._ She ignored movement in front of her, figuring the other person could walk away, and made to cross the street, but instead she ended up catching the arm of the person, stumbling and almost spilling her drink.

“Sorry!” she yelped, automatic, even as angry as she was.

“No harm, you didn’t burn me.”

The voice, soft and raspy, the Northern burr thicker than Robb’s…her eyes widened, staring at Jon, who gave her a shy look, ducking his head. She wrapped her fingers tighter around the cup, using it to control her rapid heartrate and the pulsing blood going from her head to her heart. And elsewhere. “Jon,” she said, swallowing the lump in her throat. “I…I didn’t know you knew Rickon.” _What a bloody stupid thing to say, isn’t he Rickon’s cousin?_

If he thought it was stupid, he said nothing, gave no indication. He nodded, his hands in fists in his coat pockets. He wore all black; she was half-tempted to ask if it was some sort of uniform. “He’s my youngest cousin. I volunteered to pick him up today, he’s down the street with my aunt now.”

“Oh, that’s nice.” She nibbled her bottom lip. _Say something!_

Jon smiled again, nodding to her cup. “I hope that it is hot enough for you. The Ibben blend from Essos doesn’t usually do well at such a high temperature, but the milk offsets it I think.” He stepped backwards, old snow crunching under his boots. “Um, see you later.” He turned, hurrying to the coffee stop.

Dany stood rooted in place; her fingers so tight on the cup the top had threatened to pop off. She blinked a few times, wondering why what he’d said bothered her suddenly. She couldn’t figure it. She waited, the door opening and closing as Missandei came after her. “You caused quite a stir in there; I think that’s the first time a woman has ever basically told Robb Stark she doesn’t want him.” She chuckled. “It’s a way to figure if he’s the secret admirer for sure, I guess. Why’d you do that?”

She lowered the coffee collar again, staring at the marker. Her thumb ran over it, back and forth, trying to put together the pieces. It was like a big puzzle, halfway complete, and there were two left but for some reason they weren’t fitting right. They looked exactly the same but just weren’t fitting… _oh my gods!_

“It isn’t him!” she blurted out. She almost dropped the cup, exclaiming: “Missandei! It isn’t Robb!”

Missy frowned, taking the cup from her. “You’re going to drop this, what do you mean it isn’t Robb? You just shouted at him thinking he was. What is going on?”

 _The cups in the middle of the day…always knowing she liked the boiling water…the milk in her tea…the special blend…_ “It is him!” she laughed, slapping her palms to her face, flush and excited. She leaped into the air, bouncing and laughing, swinging her arms around Missandei and almost knocking both drinks into the snow. “OH gods Missy! It is him! I figured it out! Oh…but why didn’t he say anything?”

Jon had to know he liked her! How silly he was! She grinned and grabbed the cup from her, feet bending and legs springing into a perfect grand jeté across the street and into the studio, excited for the following day. It had been too longer and now Daenerys was finally going to confront her admirer.

And Jon was going to have no idea what hit him.

* * *

The notion that Dany had rained what constituted fire and blood on Robb, believing him to be the writer of the notes on the cups, and she hadn’t _wanted_ it to him, kept Jon floating a few inches off the ground the remainder of the day and into the following morning. He had class, so he hadn’t been there in the morning to make her cup, but he looked forward to the afternoon.

It was happening.

“I’m going to tell her today,” he announced, when he walked into the coffee shop, not that Robb was paying him any attention. He didn’t need Robb to say a damn thing, he just knew that if he kept repeating it, he wouldn’t chicken out this time. His heart was so light in his chest, it might as well have sprouted wings.

Dany’s outburst on Robb had sustained the gossip of the place for the remainder of the day. Theon was beside himself, as he thought this meant that _he_ actually had a shot at the beautiful dancer. “She clearly wouldn’t want it to be you,” Sam rightfully deduced. “If she didn’t even want it to be Robb. Sounds like Jon, mate, she has been receiving the notes.”

And _that_ had kept him going when the realization that she didn’t even want the admirer to be Robb had faded a bit, his insecurities creeping up again, their evil little fingers outstretched to clamp onto his excitement and smother it back down again. “She got them, it was just Margaery being…whatever she was being,” he said, this time speaking to Ghost, as he wrote on the cup, upstairs in the office. He was going to take it over there, he was going to leave it for her, and he was going to put his number on it this time. He’d carry out the little charade one final time, and if his phone rang, that would be that.

If it didn’t, well, he would know where she really stood.

Daenerys was something completely unique, she was walking fire, and Jon had come to the rather disturbing conclusion the previous day, watching her dance the way she had, all the little kids excited to see a real ballet performance from their instructor, and the parents impressed that they actually had a legitimate teacher on their hands, but for him, it had only served to peel back the layers of the crush on a pretty, smart, funny woman to reveal the truth, one he had suspected but had been unwilling to admit to himself.

Jon Snow was in love with her.

Oh yes, he was in love with her. He was head-over-heels, beyond a crush, wanted to take her out to dinner and a movie but also marry her and watch her dance for the rest of time and have adorable little silver-haired babies with her. “She could be a mass murderer for all you know,” Robb had lectured the previous evening, when he confessed his feelings. He was still put out that even if she was off-limits to him, Dany still didn’t have some sort of affection for him. Probably the only woman in the world to feel that way about Robb Stark. “She could be a raving lunatic, bloodthirsty and evil.”

“Yes, she’s a bloodthirsty madwoman and I’m the heir to the Iron Throne,” he had retorted, rolling his eyes at the sheer insanity of it all.

He finished writing on the cup, his scrawling handwriting as neat as he could physically make it, calling upon every bad moment in primary school, with Maester Luwin chastising him for never getting his letters straight. This was important, she had to be able to read it.

 _I’d bend the knee, if this were times of dragons and direwolves, but will taking you out for a real drink suffice?_ And he’d added his phone number. It harkened back to their conversation at the party, their passionate discussion about times of old, where she wished she could ride dragons and he told her he used to wish Ghost was a real direwolf and not just the husky-wolf hybrid he’d happened to be.

He met his wolf’s red gaze, accepting the amused twinkle in Ghost’s eyes as acceptance that his companion agreed with the move. “If she calls me or not, at least I’ve told her who I am,” he said. He pocketed the marker in his apron and went downstairs, ignoring Robb, Theon, Sam, and Edd, all of whom began to tease him. Val was on the register, otherwise he was sure she’d also chime in.

Cheeks flaming red, he prepared the drink, like he always did. Hot water just this side of boiling, the three bags of the fancy tea, and the various accoutrements she liked. The milk and the vanilla syrup. He fussed with the coffee collar, ensuring that this time it did _not_ cover the message like they usually did. It was right there on the top, so she could bloody see the thing. No accidentally throwing the cup out, no way it was going to anyone else. He’d spelled her name clearly underneath the lip of the cup.

_Daenerys_

When he finished, he took off his apron, smoothed his hands nervously over his thighs, and stole a glance at his reflection in the mirror-like side of one of the espresso machines. It would be what it would be, he reluctantly accepted, his raven curls messy even though he’d tried to tame them back a bit, his eyes as gray as they always were not blue or green or brown—that wasn’t going to change—plus his scruffy beard, which he had trimmed a bit the previous evening, but if he shaved it off entirely he would resemble a tired child.

No sense scaring her away with that look.

“Here it goes,” he mumbled, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, a bit of a silent pep talk. It was like he was knocking on the door to a bloody queen’s room or something, that’s how it was with Daenerys.

Robb cat-called. “Go get her Jonny!”

He gave his cousin the finger and pulled on his beat-up winter coat, the snow plowed away from the sidewalks and street, but the cold sticking around from the previous evening’s storm. He carefully maneuvered the patches of black ice on the pavement and entered the Academy, this time the administration desk manned not by Myrcella, but by his cousin Sansa and one of her friends Jeyne. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Arya doing handstands in the waiting area.

 _Oh great_ , he thought. Just what he needed. Them to give him shit. “Sansa,” he said. He smiled politely at her friend. “Jeyne, is it?”

“Jon!” Arya exclaimed, falling out of her handstand and running over to him. She moved to take the cup. “Is that for me? Thanks man, I’m losing it here, Mom said she wouldn’t let me practice at Gendry’s house, so I had to come here but the stupid dancers are using up all the rooms and now I’m stuck.”

He didn’t listen to her continue on complaining about her mother, Gendry Baratheon—one of her martial arts classmates who she had a crush on but would never admit—or even Sansa’s bitching at her little sister for being a thorn in her side. He had a mission. He tapped on the top of the cup. “Where is Daenerys at now?” he demanded.

Sansa rolled her eyes, popping gum. “What does it matter?”

“Because I asked, where is she?”

“Upstairs probably. The advanced students never stop practicing.” She picked at some gum that had popped around her mouth and stuck to her lips, frowning. “The heater went out, but Lady Cersei isn’t letting that stop them, so they’re all dancing on frozen feet.”

_Then she will really want this drink._

“What room?” he impatiently asked.

Arya snorted. “Follow the sounds of crying girls, that’s Lady Cersei’s way.”

He ignored them both, marching up the stairs and followed the shouting of a crisp Kingsland accent, which he suspected belonged to the aforementioned Lady Cersei. He arrived outside of one of the rooms, a few young women milling around in the hallway, wearing casual sweats over their leotards, hair pulled into tight buns. He gestured to the door. “Is this the advanced class? Daenerys Targaryen in there?”

One of the women he recognized as being her friend, Missandei, he remembered. The woman smiled wide, her dark eyes sparkling. “Yes, she is. I wouldn’t go in there, seriously, Lady Cersei is on the warpath.” She nodded to the cup and pushed away from the wall. “They’re doing the solo practice for the showcase at the Rhaenys Ballet. You’re Jon?”

He nodded. “Aye.”

“I’m Missandei,” she confirmed. She reached a hand to him, dropping it to the top of the coffee cup. His fingers reflexively tightened around it, even if it was burning his hand off. “I presume this is for her, yes? Should I tell her it is from you or from, ah…” She licked her lips and grinned, although unlike Margaery’s grin when she saw him and took the cup, this one was more teasing and gentler, understanding. “From her secret admirer?”

The flush rose high on his cheeks before he had a chance to swallow it down. “You know?” he sheepishly asked.

“Of course I knew, I’m her best friend.”

“But she didn’t?”

Missandei laughed. “That girl? She was so smitten with you. No, she didn’t know.” She arched her brows. “I promise I will make sure it gets to her. Pinkie swear.”

Jon didn’t want to leave it without her knowing it was _truly_ from him, but he had his phone number on it. He had to just go and leave it to the fates, basically. He nodded and let go, allowing the other woman to take the cup. He wiped his hands—sweaty from the heat of the cup now—on the back pockets of his jeans. He stuck his fingers into them and stepped backwards to the stairs. His heart could not stop fluttering like a damn maid. “I’ll just go…um, tell her…tell her I will hear from her…I hope.”

“Of course.”

It was done, he decided, turning quickly and hurried from the studio. He ran into Arya again on the way out, promised her he’d pick her up later and spend time with her, so she didn’t have to endure Sansa for the entire day, and walked out into the frigid air, tugging his coat tight around him. He stepped off the sidewalk, got halfway across the street to the coffee shop, when he heard a soft, Crownsland-accented voice call out his name, the cold air making everything seem louder in comparison to normal.

“Jon!”

He spun on his heel, staring in surprise at the sight of Daenerys, wearing a red leotard, tutu, and shoes—she hadn’t even put on real ones!—across the street. “Dany!” he exclaimed. He slammed his brows together. She took off across the street, before he had a chance to warn her or even to test the pavement. He could see it happening before it did, exclaiming in warning: “Be careful!”

Too late. Dany slid on a patch of black ice, her toe shoes difficult to walk in on normal flooring, let alone snow and ice. She shrieked, arms windmilling at her sides to stay upright, and slid awkwardly across the area of ice. He darted to her, grabbing her by her waist, both of them tripping on the ice for a moment and regaining their footing on the snow, limbs tangled together and faces a hairsbreadth apart. He realized she was breathing deeply, but not from the surprise at her slip and almost-fall. Her eyes were almost black, the purple irises narrow around her pupils. She opened her mouth, her lips bright red and pulling back to say something, but he didn’t let her.

He just did what he wanted to do; had wanted to do since he met her at that party, and he bloody kissed her.

Dany released a soft little sigh, momentarily surprised, and Jon feared he’d frightened her or else ruined any chance at all of going on a date with her. He let go of her lips, about to stumble through an awkward and embarrassing apology, when she gripped the back of his head, forcing him back down to her, and kissed him harder, her mouth pressing tight to his and her tongue prodding at his lips to open them, to allow her entrance to his mouth. He eagerly let her in, and lifted her off the ground, his knees bent slightly given their height difference—which was rare for him as he was not very tall to begin with.

The hard toes of her pointe shoes jammed against his ankles, the soft soles bending atop his boots. She was shivering; he wasn’t sure if it was from their kiss or from the cold. She tasted like strawberry lip balm, her tea, and what Jon imagined fire might taste like. She broke away reluctantly, and he touched his forehead to hers. They smiled shyly, and she giggled girlishly. “I was wondering when you would do that,” she admitted.

“Took me long enough.”

“Bloody well right.”

They laughed, her grin pulling so wide on her face he could see her singular eyes almost disappear behind her rosy cheeks. She let her lips fall down to cover her bright white teeth, eyes twinkling happily. “So will you, um,” he began, his mind foggy and forgetting what he’d even written on her cup. He ducked his head, mumbling. “Do you want to get a real drink or…or cup of coffee?”

Dany nodded, laughing. “Yes, yes I really would.”

They couldn’t stop laughing, probably owing to nerves, or just the sheer relief that they finally knew the truth. He reluctantly let go of her, so she could return to class, and she grinned back over her shoulder at him, before lifting onto her toes and performing a series of pirouettes across the street, before leaping gracefully over some ice and spinning into a layback, her laugh high and musical, like windchimes.

He applauded, calling out. “Pick you up after class?”

“You better Jon Snow,” Dany shouted back.

It might have been madness, Jon thought, tripping backwards towards the coffee shop, or maybe it was foolishness, but in the end, he laughed like a fool, seeing Dany waving from across the street, reflecting the same feeling back at him.

In the end it is what it is, he figured, it was definitely love.


End file.
